I'm always looking for new ways to embarrass myself on the internet.
Count me in and sign me up.
|# ¿ Apr 8, 2014 18:38|
|# ¿ Jun 27, 2022 18:23|
Count me in for real this time.
|# ¿ Apr 17, 2014 01:25|
The hall stank of sweat and vomit. The soldiers who filled it were supplied with endless wine and opium, they supplied endless noise and disruption in return. When Lars finally entered, flanked by the Kings own praetorian guard the crowd turned as one and cheered. He raised his hands and waved to the men that had gathered to see him off. The hall seemed to shake as the guards pushed him through the crowd, Lars did his best to shake the hands of those who reached out for him but the guards moved too swiftly for him.
They stopped only when General Mettius burst from the crowd, his white robe stained red with wine, one hand holding a goblet, the other his golden pipe fashioned in the shape of a snake. Mettius reached out to shake his hand, dropping the goblet as if it had simply stopped existing. Lars tried his best to smile as he took it.
Mettius spat his words in-between sucks on his pipe.
"...You do have it memorized... Than without them... loving dead haha!" Lars could only nod at him and smile. "Not that we're not formidable... Than last time but still more than we could muster... Than turned rear end upwards!"
Before Lars' could respond, Mettius shuffled away, caught up in a fresh laughing fit. Behind him came Renius, and Lars felt his smile come much easier. The guards parted once more for him, not because of rank but for his position in the ceremony. He carried a golden chalice, filled with watered down wine.
"Your father would be proud." Renius said, moving to walk beside him as the Praetorian guard resumed their march through the hall. "It is an honour to bear your cup-..." They both had to pause to prevent laughing, and Renius had already drank too much to prevent himself. The guards shot them both dirty looks when Renius began to laugh as loud as Mettius had, his own rank not high enough to compensate a lack of piety. "Oh to hell with the ceremony, the God's already know my devotion to this man!" He said, as the guards opened the doors of the grand hall, the cold night air flooding in and sending a chill through the crowd behind them.
"I knew they'd pick you, because you're real pious, you can trust a pious man." The guard turned and formed a line, preventing the crowd from following further. Renius stayed with him until they reached his horse, who stood at the edge of the sheer cliff as if peering down into the endless fog below. The mare was pure white, and stood impressive as any steed Lars had ever seen. He had never ridden a King's horse before.
Renius handed Lars the cup, and he drank deep from it. He could barely taste wine for water, but he knew it was because he had to remember his message. A long and dangerous journey awaited, and he could not write down the words the King had given him, lest they be taken from his corpse.
"Servilla is with the children." Renius said, "she could not bear to be here. I tried to convince her, but she would not have it. She has never loved the Gods as much as she loves you."
Lars smiled, and returned the cup. He had so much to say, but the priest had taken his tongue.
"Put in a good word for me when you meet Mars. And if he refuses our call, tell him I will kill him for taking you without cause" Renius cleared his throat, and turned from him. "You must go." His voice broke as he walked away.
The wind began to replace the silence as Lars turned to mount his horse. The white abyss before him called, he drove the horse forward.
The mount didn't hesitate, Lars wondered if she knew the Gods were waiting.
As they left the cliff his heart leapt into his throat, and dread overtook pride as they rode downwards into the clouds below.
|# ¿ Apr 21, 2014 03:02|
Count me in.
|# ¿ Apr 23, 2014 14:39|
I've debased myself by missing submissions (but not twice in a row!) so I'm In
To regain my honour, I'd like to request two flash rules to avenge the non-submissions.
Hell, give me three if you want since I managed to write a story about a human sacrifice that was so mangled you couldn't even tell that it was happening, so that one probably needs avenging too.
also and stuff I guess.
PootieTang fucked around with this message at 23:10 on Apr 29, 2014
|# ¿ Apr 29, 2014 22:29|
I have a question, does historical/alternate history fiction count as fanfiction?
Like for instance if I had Julius Ceasar as a character, would that be too close to fanfic?
|# ¿ Apr 29, 2014 23:59|
The Boasting Bastard, Backed into his Bunker at the Battle of Buggered Britain
The map that hung on the bunker's wall was pierced with endless red flags. A small circle of blue flags broke up the sea of red, a stalwart speck on the south of the British Isles.
"There are still some people up north." Sergeant Grant said, holding out his glass. "Good people."
"Not a chance..." Churchill slurred, pouring him a miserly amount of whiskey. The cigars they were smoking were Churchill's too, so Grant had no place to complain. They stared at the map for a while longer, until the bunker shook under the force of an explosion. "I was going to win..." Churchill muttered. More to the wall than to Grant. Above them, gunfire echoed.
"They're inside." Grant said. "How long now do you think?"
Churchill's answer was unintelligible, it was lost among a loud groan as he pulled himself out of his seat. For a moment he looked like he would fall backwards, but after a few shaky seconds he steadied himself. "Right?" He waved towards the map, still clutching the whiskey bottle.
"I don't follow sir."
"Before they come." Churchill stumbled towards the map, lifting it up by the corner. Then he began to tap the whiskey bottle against the wall behind it. Grant stood and moved to pull him away, when the wall suddenly opened revealing a small dark corridor, barely big enough for a man to crawl through.
Outside the door, the noise of the gunfire grew closer and closer, before suddenly stopping altogether.
Grant couldn't decide between anger and relief, Churchill only laughed. Suddenly Grant regretted some of the things he had said when he believed their deaths inevitable. "You're a cruel man sir." Was all he could muster.
The silence outside was replaced by German voices. "After you?" Grant said.
Churchill shook his head. "Not a gently caress chance." He said. "I can't go back after what I said. I made promises."
"With respect sir, you're shitfaced. Come on, we'll need you for the counter-attack." Grant was already climbing into the tunnel when he started speaking, until that day he had barely spoken to the man, but after a few hours alone in a bunker, sharing your last thoughts before death he felt at ease enough to swear at a superior.
"You're poo poo face, I'm going down with my ship." He turned away and glanced towards the door, which now shook as the men on the other side attempted to break it down. "Tell them I killed twenty Nazi's before they got me." He said, taking another swig of whiskey. "Make it good, something inspiring."
The man was blind-drunk. As he stood, his head nodded in an uneven rhythm, as if he were listening to music no-one else could hear. Grant let the map fall as he turned and crawled away.
Alone, Churchill turned to the map once more. It all ended here, his own personal downfall.
He smirked at his own narcissism. Taking another mouth-full from his bottle, he pulled his pistol from its holster. Better to die and take information in his head with him than serve as an easy answer to the question of a British Resistance.
The door swung open, grey uniforms stormed the room.
He fired his pistol and continued to drink, as he gasped pulling the cool glass away from his lips he noticed the lack of return fire. He opened his eyes in time to greet the truncheon with a smile.
Now all he could see were flashing lights, a few glimpses of looming grey shadows and falling black lightning.
He took a moment to figure out if he was alive or dead. His eyes finally opened, and above him loomed a blurry officer-shaped blob. Churchill clenched his fists, his pistol had been knocked away in the struggle but he still held his whiskey.
He spat blood, and the German foot on his wrists loosened enough for him to take one last swig from his whiskey.
He had to laugh, as he fell unconscious he wondered if the whiskey was to blame. The glass was still cool against his hand. Probably not...
|# ¿ May 5, 2014 05:53|
I'm IN and this time I'm gonna do more than one draft, and I'm not gonna wait 'till the night before the deadline. Honest. I swear. For real this time.
Also I'd like a flashrule too, because why not.
PootieTang fucked around with this message at 22:12 on May 20, 2014
|# ¿ May 20, 2014 22:09|
Your story must something that ends while it simultaneously begins.
Did you mean must include something that ends while it simultaneously begins (like those reverse aging jellyfish) or the story itself must end while it simultaneously begins?
|# ¿ May 21, 2014 15:50|
I'm in with a for failing to submit last week. I'll carry over my flash rule from last week too since I didn't get a chance to obey it.
|# ¿ May 30, 2014 23:03|
Prompt story: http://writocracy.com/thunderdome/?story=1327
"...Meanwhile, Erogenous Beef saves diddly squat because he's busy eating dicks." Rick Stared at the crime scene through the steering wheel of the squad car. Beef himself stood a good distance away, looking lost amidst a field of evidence markers. The street was cordoned off, a small horde of journalists and rubberneckers held at bay by yellow tape.
"This is hard to watch." Alan Said shifting nervously in the passenger seat.
"It's like watching Luther if it starred an actual downie. Or someone even more retarded than that, like Bradley Walsh."
Alan shifted again. "...Harsh."
"The man hosed a burger. Literally hosed it. Cock in buns. He's a batty beef boy."
"That's just a vulgar rumour."
"Well I believe it, look at him, he's like a different species of lovely, dumb oval office fucker."
"You're gonna give yourself a heart attack you know, you look like you're gonna pop."
Rick Leaned back, sinking low in his seat. The car's front window framed the scene outside like some absurd dark comedy, for a moment they both sat in silence and watched.
Erogenous Beef was centre stage, before him beneath a white sheet lay 85 year old Jessica Alcott, who had died of cardiac arrest in full view of neighbors. Behind him, several bins. Beef turned back and forth between the two, craning his neck like he was being led by the nose and forced to spin in circles.
"I can't blame him." Alan said.
They knew what was inside the bins, neither felt like breathing life into the fact by saying it aloud. They didn't know quite how many bodies it took to fill each bin with limbs. There had been enough to send Jessica Alcott into cardiac arrest at least, and from the look of it Erogenous Beef was about to follow her. From stage left, a cat entered climbing onto Jessica's body, where it began to urinate. Erogenous stared dumbfounded at it. Rick and Alan stared dumbfounded at him.
"What the gently caress is even happening?" Rick said, almost shouting.
Then, Beef moved. The cat flew towards the nearby crowd screeching as it soared towards them. Beef still looked dumbfounded as his foot returned to the ground.
"In his defence, that was a great kick." Alan said, holding back laughter. All eyes turned to Erogenous Beef, who slowly opened his mouth, as if to speak, then he began to cry. He turned and ran, holding his hands up to hide his tears, a journalist ducked the police tape and chased him, taking photos as he ran. Beef tripped, landing face first on concrete. The journalist managed to get a few more pictures of him sprawled; tears streaming down his face, blood running down his nose, and his already strong reputation for incompetency and emotional instability exploding into a supernova, before another police officer pushed him back behind the yellow tape. Exit stage right, pursued by a journalist.
"Welp, that's everything right loving there." Rick said, starting the engine. "The whole case is gonna be that, but less literal. Then they're gonna hand it off to some other retard, who isn't going to be able to do poo poo with what's left for him. I mean the bodies were dumped, so no murder scene, no witnesses, no discernible motive. Nothing. This one's over before it loving starts. Like Erogenous Beef's loving career."
Alan buckled his seat-belt as they pulled out onto the street, he eyed Rick's knuckles as he attempted to crush the steering wheel. "But you could handle it? If you had gotten the call instead of-"
"Of course I loving could."
For a while there was only the hum of the engine, as they sped away from the scene.
"You know I heard driving while angry is worse than driving drunk." Alan said.
"What?" Rick turned to him for a moment, before a car horn drew his gaze back to the road ahead. "Did I finish my story? about the fire?"
"Yeah, you took over the stake-out he was on and then saved the kid in the fire." Alan mumbled, turning away.
"Exactly, I don't gently caress around, Beef is too busy obsessing over his own inadequacy that he misses the obvious, he lets poo poo get to him, because he's a loving retard. Whereas- Look at me."
Alan turned to him as they passed under the red light, Rick stared directly into his eyes, behind him a truck seemed to grow from nothing. "Whereas I am loving awake-"
|# ¿ Jun 2, 2014 06:29|
Can I get an extension on the loserbrawl, just an extra day maybe? I've just got back from work, and I'm dog-tired
If it helps, I'm totally down with extending the loserbrawl.
And I'm not saying I purposefully wrote an awful entry in order to trap CommissarMega into this exact situation... But that is a possibility.
|# ¿ Jun 3, 2014 17:45|
Oh and I'm in for this week too.
|# ¿ Jun 3, 2014 17:52|
Loser Brawl gently caress YEAH! (I don't think we're actually late unless I've mistranslated the time-zones, it should be turning high noon in a minute by my count.)
Hydrogen interrupted part two (1342 words)
(Not actually a sequel)
It would not take much to ignite the hydrogen in the ship.
Maria tapped her foot in rhythm with the ticking of the bomb in her bag.
Tick tick tick.
Tap tap tap.
"Why does it have to tick?" She had asked when Johan first showed it to her. He had sneered and muttered in response.
Tick tick tick.
Tap tap tap.
There were fewer people than expected on the Hindenburg. Besides her only three other people were in the bar. An old bearded man, who had fallen asleep in his seat, another woman who sat smoking, and him.
The way his head jerked nervously as he glanced around the room, the expression on his face, even his clothes reminded her of Oskar. She could see his stress building, like staring back in time to what her brother was like before he met Elsa. The awkward hunch, the uncertainty in his eyes.
Tick tick tick.
Tap tap tap.
For a moment she considered approaching him. It would not be long now anyway, in these last few moments there was a strange freedom. Soon, none of it would matter any-more. Even if he wasn't her brother, she could sit with him and imagine for a moment it might feel like he was really there with her. The more she stared, the more she thought of Elsa, and how she had stole him away. She wondered if the man in the bar had an Elsa of his own, a mad whore enamored more with her own brand of radicalism than any real human emotion.
The hypocrisy brought her back to reality for a moment. How deep Elsa's hooks had sunk, to bring her to this point. Not for Elsa she thought to herself. For Oskar. Her hands shook, and for a minute she felt like she might fit.
Tick tick tick.
Tap tap tap.
She took a deep breath, and sighed. The feeling passed, it had been weeks since her last fit, but they had grown more frequent with age. After she had calmed, she glanced again in the direction of Oskar's doppelganger. Oskar had always been worse, his fits more frequent and more intense than hers, he had always needed her to look after him. Even after Elsa convinced him otherwise.
Tick tick tick.
Tap tap tap.
She wondered what it would be like to see him again, in heaven. She might tell him about this, and they would laugh. Sat upon a cloud, her head resting in his lap as they stared down at the earth below. 'He was just like you' she would say. 'So very handsome'. In the next life, there was no judgement, they could finally be together the way she had dreamed. Her eyes were drawn to the bag again, and the freedom waiting inside it.
Tick tick tick.
Tap tap tap.
She would grant Oskar's wish in this life, and in the next he could not refuse her. Her smile grew. With that Jewish whore rotting in hell, no-one would poison his mind against her. She rose from her seat, straightened herself, and finally approached him.
As she spoke, she moved towards the seat next to him. "Hello, do you mind if-"
"Excuse me- I just... My daughter, she went to the lavatory and she hasn't-... She's ill you see and I-"
She put her finger to his lips, he even spoke like her Oskar.
"Of course dear." She said calmly, his eyes betrayed a certain fear, and she withdrew her hand sharply. "I'm sorry." She said curtly. "I'll check on her for you."
His distressed expression turned to a small smile as he thanked her, and she turned to move to the bathroom. "Her name is Emma" He called after her, as she walked down the empty hall towards the bathrooms. Away from the bar, the only sound was the dull moan of the engine, her footsteps, and the ever present if quiet ticking of her bag.
Tick tick tick.
Tap tap tap.
She opened the door to see a young girl, unmistakably the gentleman's daughter. She lay, shaking violently, her head repeatedly smacking against the tile floor.
Tick tick tick.
Smack smack smack.
The surprise held her for a moment, but she was not new to the sight. She fell to her knees beside the girl, pulling her scarf and bundling it up into a soft ball, placing it under the girls head. She knew better than to hold her down, better to let the fit pass on it's own as long as she was in no danger of cracking her skull. The sound of her limbs flailing beside her, was a softer less violent sound than before, as she began to calm.
Thud thud thud.
Tap tap tap.
As the excitement began to wear off, and her own heartbeat slowed, Maria took a moment to examine the girl. The family resemblance was uncanny, if Oskar's daughter had lived, she would most likely look the spitting image of the poor girl before her. She smiled, reaching out to brush the girls disheveled hair from her face. The fit had ceased, and the girl looked as if she might only be sleeping, almost peacefully. Then she began to see another resemblance, the way her nose hooked, the squat frame. She had already forgotten the girls name, she had looked like family at first, but now she saw what she really was. In her mind, the name rang out like an alarm bell.
Elsa Elsa Elsa.
Tick tick tick.
The girl began to regain her senses, Maria lingered next to her, unsure. When the girl looked up at her, she put a hand gently to her shoulder and whispered.
"Shhhh, it's okay... You had a fit, it's okay now..."
"I'm sorry-" The girl said, attempting to stand. Maria found herself pushing against her, holding her down. "My father is-"
The voice was unmistakable, and Maria's hand moved to her throat. Elsa's voice, even from Hell the whore still taunted her. The girl was choking, Maria's hands tight across her windpipe, squeezing so tight her entire arms shook with the force.
It doesn't matter. She told herself. A few more minutes, a few more seconds, and it will all be over. Nothing matters anymore.
Tick tick tick.
The girls limbs began to flail again, but Maria had done this before and pinned one of the girls arms with her knee. Now she began to enjoy it. She had almost forgotten how good it felt to strangle Elsa, to feel her life slip away. A pleasure she had not expected to experience twice. Her heart raced. Oskar I'm sorry. For a moment it was him under her, she squeezed tighter, feeling tears fall onto the dying girl. I'm so sorry, I love you, I'm so sorry.
Shaking, she finally relented. Her whole body on fire, the girls now motionless sprawled across the plain white of the floor. Standing, Maria fought to regain her breath, her chest heaving, heart on fire. She blinked the tears away.
Tick tick tick.
Pant pant pant.
Any moment and it would be over, any second. God would it never end?
Tick tick tick.
Oskar could come at any moment, she prayed that God would take them all before he found them.
Tick tick tick.
Not Oskar. She felt he breath calm. He's not Oskar.
Tick tick tick.
"Emmy? Is everything okay?" Oskar's voice called, the door creaking open.
Tick tick tick.
Maria threw herself through the opening, pushing him back. "No don't- I'm so sorry, she was already-" The man cried out suddenly and attempted to push past her, but she had always been stronger than him. "It's okay..." She whispered, putting her arms around him as he fought her. She was happy for it to end like this. She closed her eyes, and Oskar was there with his arms around her, crying tears of joy. "It's okay.. It's over...It's almost over..."
PootieTang fucked around with this message at 16:19 on Jun 6, 2014
|# ¿ Jun 6, 2014 15:57|
Wouldn't it be better if instead of the judges picking songs, we each picked a song, which then got randomly assigned to someone else?
I'm IN with a for not submitting last time. Also this guy has a good idea.
|# ¿ Jun 18, 2014 05:31|
Submission deadline: Sunday, June 22, 11:59 pm USA Eastern
It's only 11:31 EST! You can't close this poo poo a half hour early, that ain't fair!
Revenge of the Drum-stick Knight part 3: Money Never Sleeps Twice, OR, "How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Just Write It An Hour Before The Deadline".
Crimson tinted smoke rolled over neon, reaching up and enveloping the descending hovercraft like a great red hand pulling it down into the slums. The sign said 'Wild Bill's ethical slaughterhouse' the words lighting up the darkness that would otherwise drown the street. The sign also featured a giant pig on a plate, biting a bouquet of roses in it's mouth. The sign was new, though the building seemed dilapidated. The neon flashed as the pig winked, and Hesh found himself oddly hypnotized. On the inside of the hovercraft, a small tone much like a doorbell dinged as he descended, outside the craft blared a deafening tone to warn anyone below, the tone changed with the season and in the winter they did their best to imitate sleigh-bells. But no-once could mistake the flying metallic brick for Santa, not even in drowning in the snow of the silver white winter it flew through.
"How does it look?" The radio cracked loudly, this deep into the slums and all forms of communication start to fail. No towers and lot's of thick concrete, there were conspiracy theories online that said the government was blacking out areas intentionally but no-one took it seriously.
"It has a really bad sign." Hesh answered, eying the blizzard outside from the warmth of his craft.
"Like an omen?"
"No, a neon sign."
"It could still be an omen."
Hesh didn't answer. At the beginning, he considered it a dry hump of an investigation. Another family who couldn't afford abduction insurance, or more likely any form of crime insurance at all, but they could afford the failing security firm he worked for. Still, it was over-time, and working with 'less fortunate communities' afforded several government granted perks, like the free crime-insurance his family enjoyed. He glanced once more at the sign, it had begun to rain through the snow and raindrops on the roses dripped into a dark pool below. He thanked God his kids would have actual police officers looking for them if they ever disappeared.
"I'm gonna go in" He said into the radio. "If I find any of the missing kids I'll call"
"Don't die." The voice answered.
He opened the door and stepped out. Any street-rats nearby had probably fled when they saw him land, his craft was intentionally outfitted to look like a police vehicle, very few in the slums could read the words on the vehicle so the camouflage usually worked. Wild Geese Security. Somehow, nobody made the connection when they hired them to chase down someone.
The weather was viscous. The warm woolen mittens his daughter had made at her school may have been pink, but they were warm. He thought of the over-time, if it kept coming then he could keep her in a category six school, perhaps indefinitely if the prices didn't rise again.
As he approached the slaughterhouse he chastised himself for hoping the disappearances would keep coming. He had worked on the first wave, fifteen years ago when he was still a 'real' detective. The children from that case would all be adults by now if they had lived, and he still remembered each of their faces. They never found the bodies, but after the first twelve were taken, any taken after that were delivered back to the parents in brown paper packages tied up with string. Their best guess from the scraps, was that he was feeding them to his dogs.
The front door was locked.
As he circled around he saw what looked like a dumpster full of used bandages, but as he walked by he saw that it was blood-soaked torn up clothes. He peered over the lid and the pile seemed endless, none of the clothes were whole except for a few white dresses and blue satin sashes.
He reached up grabbing the looming lid of the bin, looking side to side knowing no-one was there to see, his heart was racing and suddenly it felt like he was back in time, fifteen years ago. call it in something inside him screamed. Just be calm and call it in.
As he slammed the lid closed, he found himself staring into a broken window.
On the other side, a man with fire in his eyes stood completely still.
Hesh pulled his gun and fired, but the man was already moving. The bullet barely grazed his arm as he darted to the side, about as painful as a bee-sting. Climbing onto the dumpster, Hesh threw himself forward and through the half-broken glass shouting for the man to stop. He could hear the footsteps descending away from him as he righted himself, wiping the snowflakes still on his nose and eyelashes away. He could barely see through the snow outside, but he only needed to glance a shadow to know what he was looking at. Call it in the voice rang out again, but now a new voice joined it. He's going to kill them and run. He spared himself half a heartbeat to decide, and then gave chase.
In the back, there was a stairwell leading into darkness. Hesh could hear the man fleeing with an inhuman speed. Racing through the building portraits of madness passed.
A kitchen filled with mountains of unwashed plates, like a great valley leading to an oven with a single bright copper kettle boiling on the stove.
An empty room across a floor of broken furniture, written on the wall in dark brown 'IT HURTS SO GOOD'.
A bathroom of broken mirrors, shards reflecting the glow of a single blinking light in a thousand directions.
And then, solid concrete leading even deeper.
When he finally made it to the bottom of the stairs, the building was silent. The stairwell opened up into a total void. For a moment he panicked, as if he might fall into a bottomless pit as he stepped into it. When he finally pulled out his flashlight, he discovered the walls, floors and ceiling had all been painted black. After a few steps, the stairwell dissipated, and he roamed a sea of darkness listening for screams or footsteps.
Then, in the ocean of darkness, a door.
Cream coloured ponies and cartoon kittens with giant whiskers, across a small lake of solid pink. As scanned the rest of the hall, he saw no other doors nearby, and though he dreaded to do so, he had to open it.
At first he thought it was fake, some trick, but the door was simply heavier than he had expected. It took both hands to pull it open.
He recognized her immediately, from the photos they had handed out. She was a lot older, but he knew it from just a glance. There was a chain around her neck, but it pooled beside her and must have been long enough for her to reach everywhere but the doorway. She's breathing the voices called in unison, and as he dragged the cone of light across the wall he began to see the rest, the ones they had never found.
At the center of the room was a red pool, with scraps of flesh strewn around, as realization dawned on him, he was thrown forwards, dropping his flashlight. On his hands and knees, sliding on fresh blood, Hesh could hear the door shutting behind him.
PootieTang fucked around with this message at 04:34 on Jun 23, 2014
|# ¿ Jun 23, 2014 04:31|
|# ¿ Jun 27, 2014 04:43|
IN with a
|# ¿ Jul 8, 2014 00:11|
I've never actually lost a thunderdome (If I did I wouldn't have this lovely avatar) so I think my red dot should be removed.
Or give me a sweet-rear end losertar, either way works.
|# ¿ Jul 13, 2014 02:37|
Yes, you have. You and CommissarMega then brawled to see who would have to wear the losertar, because the mods only give us one freebie a week. You won and so were spared. If you want the losertar now, you'll have to suck again.
drat, I was hoping that was a brawl for who was declared the loser.
Guess I'll just take out my frustration on TEAM SUN (MORE LIKE TEAM BUM) WHO SUCK.
|# ¿ Jul 13, 2014 02:58|
All Loud On The Western Front
The ruins stretched for thousands of miles, and the city was lit only by the many flares and flashes of rail-gun fire within it's smoking corpse.
"The enemy have been relentless, the position was almost over-run two hours ago and it's been hanging by a thread, we can't spare any other men, so you'll be going it alone. Besides, the more dire need is ammo" The Major reached down and patted the metal of the ammo case O'Malley was holding. "So once you distribute this among the soldiers find Sergeant McKinley and report to him. And remember, DON'T get shot until AFTER you distribute the ammo." The Major then saluted O'Malley, and the APC doors opened.
O'Malley leaped out, the sound of gunfire and explosions overwhelming after the dull groan of the APC's engines. He focused on running, ignoring the weight of the two ammo cases in his hands. It was a long run to the engagement area, but no shells or stray shots seemed to land near him as he sprinted, though the sounds were unmistakably close.
As O'Malley rounded another corner he heard the sound of a shell landing beside him, and leapt to the ground. His ears were ringing, and for a moment he thought he might be dead, until he finally lifted himself from the ground, to see a loose arrangement of cheering soldiers. He was totally unharmed, and as he turned to where he heard the shell fall he saw a small radio. The design was unrecognisable, a mess of cogs and chips with two make-shift speakers attached. He turned from it, and looked towards the soldiers.
By their uniform he knew they were friendly, but none of them were holding weapons.
O'Malley approached them, and as he finally neared the sound changed instantly. One second the roar and echo of a battlefield, the next the sound of rap music and conversation. At least twenty soldiers were there, clustered in small groups, all of them downwind of a smoking pit.
"Where is Sergeant McKinley?" O'Malley called out. "...And is that Marijuana?"
A hand was raised in one of the groups, and an grey haired bearded man stepped forward. His rank clearly designated on his uniform. "I'm McKinley." He said. "Are you the resupply guy?"
O'Malley continued to search the area, unsure of where to take cover. "Where is enemy?" He asked finally.
"Over here-" McKinley said, leading him away from the soldiers. As they walked McKinley took the ammo boxes, and O'Malley noted the distinct clumsiness of his movements, the slow drone of his speech, and the bloodshot redness of his eyes. As O'Malley turned to speak, the sound changed once more, returning the gunfire and roaring explosions of a battlefield, startling him back into silence. Eventually they approached a single soldier, firing at a row of half-destroyed buildings. As the soldier saw them approach he lowered his rifle.
"Sarge!" He called out. "My shift done already?"
O'Malley shook his head. "What's going on?" He said, his voice breaking as he spoke.
The soldier did not seem phased. "We're fighting the enemy." He said. And then O'Malley noticed that all noise of gunfire had ceased, not simply one rifle among the many he had heard.
"It's the shape of the ruins. There's an acoustic dead spot, just the way we came." Sergeant McKinley said. "It's completely insulated from all the sound in the surrounding area, and those buildings where he was just shooting?" He said, pointing towards the soldier and the horizon beyond. "Fire one bullet into those and the noise will echo for miles, compounding on itself and making the noise of an entire fire-fight" The sergeant then turned to O'Malley. "Did you bring any food?"
"There's no-one there?" O'Malley said.
"No people, but we officially declared war on those rocks a few days ago. It's been a hard fought battle ever since."
O'Malley's eyes widened. "You're insane!" He said, backing away from them. McKinley grabbed him before he could turn and run.
"No, no, no... Command gave us incorrect directions, instead of sending us after an enemy position..."
"They sent us to attack some empty buildings." The soldier interjected. "So I say gently caress it, I'll follow orders if it means I just have to stand around and shoot rocks all day. Rocks don't shoot back."
McKinley dropped the ammo boxes at the soldiers feet. "'We say gently caress it. Then Williams built some radios out of scrap metal and our GPS devices, we planted them in key areas and there you have it, instant fake battlefield, and officially the cosiest job on the western front."
"He also found the pot too, poo poo was growing wild. And I mean Hendrix wild!" The soldier added.
O'Malley paused for a moment. "But that doesn't make any sense." He said.
McKinley waved his hand, and then began to walk O'Malley back towards the fire pit. "I'm sorry son, are you an acoustic engineer?"
"No, I mean you're a soldier, you should be fighting the enemy, not shooting at rocks."
"I was drafted, I'm about as much a soldier as those rocks are my enemy. Besides, we're all high now, it would be irresponsible to enter a combat situation with inebriated troops."
"But- but we have to fight the enemy." O'Malley turned from the smoke, not flinching when the sound returned to the blare of rap music. "What about the casualties? The men who died after being sent here-"
"Men who realized too late that they should have dodged the draft when they had the chance. I bet by now some of them might even be home, enjoying the benefits of a glorious death in battle." McKinley said.
"You're disobeying orders."
"I'm obeying them, now what were your orders?"
"I..." O'Malley looked down at his empty hands. "I'm to report to you."
"Alright O'Malley, my orders are for you to get high as hell, and think about what would have actually happened if you had ran into the middle of an actual battlefield with no gun and two boxes of ammo."
"But... We have to fight the enemy?" O'Malley repeated, suddenly feeling hungry.
"What enemy do you have? What's his name? What did he do to you?" McKinley sighed.
"I know who my enemy is, some rear end-hole in a suit who told me I had to join the army, that by living on his land I had the duty to go kill some other rear end-hole who probably got drafted the same way. I think he's your enemy too my friend."
McKinley turned to the soldiers, one of whom had started break-dancing. "And we are kicking his rear end already."
|# ¿ Jul 14, 2014 03:49|
FUSCHIA TUDE I'M CALLING YOU OUT, BRAWL ME IF YOU DARE
Let's face it, neither of us put our best work forward this week.
In fact let's be brutally honest, we both submitted turds. It's just as a superior being, my turds are clearly better than yours.
And you had to go and smack talk before hand, so I'm not gonna let you walk away with just that minor beating. Plus I love Chinese historical war style poo poo, so your obvious place-holder entry is doubly insulting.
You and me, mano-a-mano, for real this time.
PootieTang fucked around with this message at 02:47 on Jul 15, 2014
|# ¿ Jul 15, 2014 02:25|
Count me in too.
|# ¿ Jul 15, 2014 04:42|
Final reminder that this is due in 24 hours.
FuschiaTude, any chance you want to extent the brawl by a couple hours? I just realized this is on euro time for once, where I had previously assumed I had until early morning my time. That combined with my shifts means I probably won't be able to get it sorted on the dot at midnight. (Or for that matter, my 24 hours before submission first draft rule)
Or I'll eat the loss and submit late, I'm down for that too.
EDIT: In fact, I could really do with extending it by one day, a little late to ask I know, but let me know if you're down for that.
EDIT AGAIN: In fact, yeah I'm gonna have to put all my eggs into the one day extension basket. There's no way I can get it done in time otherwise.
I mean uh, I'll mercifully grant you one day of merciful extension Fuschia, if you'll accept it. Only because I know that right now you're panicking at the aspect of my imminent textular assault.
PootieTang fucked around with this message at 23:03 on Jul 26, 2014
|# ¿ Jul 26, 2014 22:07|
Pootietude Chaos & Order Brawl
Always Wear a Condom Part Six: Escape to Which Mountain?
(2000 words not including title)
Wu Shihuo's feet ached and his body felt the weight of his exhaustion pulling him down, each step threatened to break him and slam him down onto the hard road.
There had been no other travelers for a while now. He could remember the last group that had passed, behind them several wagons had followed. As they passed Shihuo could smell the food inside, and it made his mouth water with foolish anticipation. The weight of his legs even seemed lighter for a moment, as if he were being fed by the scent alone.
Hours passed, but none passed. He had no money, no tools to build a shelter, and no friends outside of the temple. No friends within it either he thought, until a wretched memory destroyed that belief. He loved me. He loved me and I betrayed him.
His legs gave way, and he fell by the wayside.
The temple would not take him back. Leaving without permission was a terrible crime, though it was his first. The brothers thought it his second, they didn't believe his purity was still intact after the night he turned Fengxian in to the masters. 'It is not a solitary crime' they had said, and the way he wept for Fengxian as he reported his 'affliction' to them spoke enough of the matter to assume their shared guilt. They had chosen not to punish him, and when the hour came for Fengxian to receive his retribution, Shihuo had ran and left them all behind, as if the world would stop spinning in his absence, and Fengxian would remain ever living and unharmed.
He had told himself that he would continue his studies out here, beyond the walls of his temple, but now that idea seemed more fantasy than a plan. He could not eat spirituality, and knowledge may fill a mind, but never a stomach. He had never been taught how to forage or farm, or much of anything for that matter. All he knew, all his soul needed, was knowledge of the sacred texts, for within them lay all that a man needed to know.
To Shihuo's suprise, a hare darted past him on the road. It stopped and turned to him. It's whiskers twitched as if in greeting, and for the first time in a long while Shihuo smiled. Follow the hare, it has lived out here for many years and will lead you to food if you allow it. He reached a hand out to stroke the small creature. What if there is not enough for both of us? What if he leads me away from the road? What shall I name him?
Fengxian, I will name him Fengxian.
A bolt, unseen struck the hare and sent it's small frame tumbling across the ground away from him. In alarm Shihuo scurried back, turning to his left to see a large merchant in fine robes, with a cart behind him, and a crossbow in his hands. the merchant said. "I recognize your robes stranger." As lazily tossed the crossbow behind him into the cart, moving towards Shihuo. "A brother from the order I see." He said. "And what brings you down this road, friend?"
Shihuo turned from him, crawling towards the wounded hare. He reached to pull out the bolt, but the creature seemed so much in pain that he could not do it. "That one has no life left out here. Not any more" the merchant said. "There is only one kindness we can show him now." the merchant walked past Shihuo, reaching down, taking the hare in his hands, and with a small crack broke it's neck, the creature finally finding a peaceful stillness.
"A hare too slow to dodge is no hare at all..." He said as he pulled the bolt out. "Let him be a meal instead. Aye, he'll do much better as that I'd say." the merchant smiled at Shihuo. "You'll be starving I bet." He said, as he climbed onto his cart. "Pull me down the road, and I'll feed you a hearty meal, a fair trade no?"
Shihuo felt himself already rising, even before he had consciously decided to.
As he pulled the merchant, he continued to speak, though Shihuo gave no response. "I was from the order too you know, a runaway like you. In fact, one of the first men who didn't rob me was a merchant with a cart much like this one, who offered me a job dragging him from place to place. But I had always been a wiser man that most, so I killed him and took his cart."
"That was a joke, you do know what a joke is don't you?" the merchant laughed, and then continued. He told Shihuo the story of his past as a runaway, begging and starving for years before renouncing his oath and order, indulging himself in the necessities of survival, and eventually the commodities of wealth. "I learned much more out here then I ever could have in the temple.. Those monks were so ignorant they'd jump at their own shadow lest it drat their soul. Aye I had always loved to learn, and they 'taught' me so much." He spat. "Ha!"
The merchant did not seem to cease talking. He ranted on about men, about their fears and their prejudice, and the lies they tell each other and even themselves, though Shihuo was ever silent. As they made their first camp, Shihuo began to suspect the merchant was almost as wise as he had claimed.
Shihuo sat by the cart, as the merchant built a fire, and began to cook a stew on the roadside. when the merchant handed Shihuo a steaming bowl, he bowed low and swiftly, before gulping it down. Eating meat... They would cast me out for that he thought. And then, against his will he felt a smile cross his lips, and just as swiftly tears followed.
"Shhh I know..." The merchant said, moving to him. "I knew your anguish once." He whispered, wrapping his arms around Shihuo, holding him as he cried himself to sleep.
When he finally woke the merchant and greeted him with a warm morning meal. Shihuo bowed again, and eagerly ate.
"You don't speak much do you?" The merchant asked. Shihuo could only stare back.
He had not spoken since reporting Fengxian.
"Aye I don't mind, I like a man who listens." The merchant said. "And you seem a gentle sort." The merchant wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "You've no-where else to go, pull my cart and I'll feed you meat and wisdom in abundance. What do you say?"
Shihuo remained still.
"you know a man hungers for more than food, he hungers for power, for rest, and for his fellow man. I have a feeling you're hungry for something too, perhaps it is the wisdom you could not find at the temple?" He asked, grinning ear to ear.
Shihuo did not reply, but his eyes answered for him.
"A sample then perhaps? From the fruit of the tree of wisdom itself..." the merchant said, reaching into his robes, and pulling out some foreign object Shihuo had never seen.
It was an orb of sorts, made only of thin frame that housed within it another orb of similar shape, and within that, yet another, until the very centre, in which seemed to sit a fallen star.
As Shihuo observed more closely, he saw the flame did not flicker, nor wane nor move with the cold night wind. It seemed perfectly still, yet it radiated heat and light as bright as any torch.
"You may hold it, but you must be careful." The merchant said, his eyes roaming over Shihuo, examining him before handing the orb to him with both of his hands. When it touched Shihuo's skin the inner frames of the frames of the orb began to spin, slowly at first but then faster, and the light began to glow brighter than before.
Shihuo eyes darted in alarm from the orb to the merchant, who continued to watch intently, his face betraying no surprise.
As the frames increased in speed, so too did the heat rise in the orb.
"Close your eyes." The merchant said.
Shihuo obeyed, and as he closed his eyes and met the darkness a sudden voice began to sing in the distance.
He did not understand the words that were sang, but their profound beauty moved his heart to painful memories. Staring off into darkness, Shihuo saw a tree grow between two raging black waters, and from it's branches small black forms unfurled wings and took flight. Upon the tree many wise men also grew, hanging limply from branches, sullen and afraid.
The tree began to fall under the weight of itself, until the birds swept downwards and began to peck the heads of the sages, until their bloody scalps were torn from their bodies, and the dripping pink flesh inside was offered up to the hungry birds. As they ate, the weight on the branches subsided, the birds attempted to take flight, but fattened by their carrion feast they fell silently into the sea below.
The waves crashed against the tree tearing it asunder, and from it's wreckage naked crawled Fengxian. "We are not Brothers." He said, stepping along the now still waters, his footsteps sending dark ripples along the sea. "There is no crime in love, and no evil in my heart, I'm not afraid to say it because I know it's true..." And then a bolt grew from his side, and his pale white body fell limp into the darkness.
Shihuo threw the orb. As it left his hands the sky and ground returned, and the black sea faded into the night. He could feel cold sweat running down his body, his robes clinging to his flesh, his eyes burning. I don't understand. He wanted to shout, but instead he drew his knees to his chest and stared at the orb, as it's concentric rings began to slow, and the light subside.
The merchant scooped up the orb and placed it back into his robe without a word.
The next morning the merchant did not speak, and left with no-one to listen to but his own thoughts, Shihuo turned over the vision in his head.
"There is no shame in it. You need only ask." The merchant said the next day. There was no answer. "You will understand in time, perhaps."
But the merchant would elaborate no further, and spoke but sparingly, never espousing the wisdom he claimed to possess.
One evening, as the merchant slept, Shihuo conspired to take the orb.
Not to steal it, but to grasp it, now prepared for what would come he felt that he might be able to study it, or so he told himself.
The merchant did not stir as he sifted through his robes, he only snored as Shihuo finally felt it within his hand, and pulled the orb into the cool night air. He could feel it already, the otherworldly sensation that this device exuded. It made his heart race. He held the orb in both hands, sitting cross-legged and closing his eyes, awaiting the vision to come, and Fengxian to return with it.
In the morning, the merchant awoke to see Shihuo sprawled out in front of him, on his back, eyes open and unblinking, staring at the sun. In his hands he clutched the orb. "I understand... I understand..." Shihuo whispered, his raspy voice barely reaching past his lips. The merchant took the orb from him, but the boy remained motionless below him. "I understand... I understand..."
The merchant loaded his cart alone.
"I understand, I understand..." The light in Shihuo's eyes began to fade. "Fengxian..." He whispered, his mouth curving into one final smile.
The merchant left him, smiling on his back, staring into the blinding light, and dreaming of Fengxian.
|# ¿ Jul 28, 2014 22:31|
When the rule states we cannot have done the prompt before, does that count 'domes we signed up for but failed to deliver on? Because if so I'd like to actually write something for the Thunderome Bingo that I missed. So IN if that is possible.
|# ¿ Aug 2, 2014 03:28|
I think I have a too so it's time to live dangerously.
(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)
|# ¿ Aug 26, 2014 01:38|
IN with snake eyes (1 and 1)
|# ¿ Sep 16, 2014 17:51|
In with 1 and 1, snake eyes.
I'm honour-bound to challenge you to a brawl, to the DEATH!
...Or 'to the deadline' but that doesn't sound as dramatic.
|# ¿ Sep 16, 2014 18:23|
Baby Shoes, Worn Once
Inside the factory the sky rained burning sparks. The metal stairs were stained black, Casey's steps were slow and ponderous. As he ascended, intermittent flashes lit his way between bouts of total darkness that made his path invisible.
The people that passed him didn't regard him. He punched out in silence. Outside the darkness was more lively, stretched between looming fluorescent stars and dancing between the headlights of the endless traffic.
He took the long way home. Alice would be drunk by now, or with any luck passed out in Henry's room. Her feet hanging off the edge of the tiny blue race-car bed, or perhaps curled up as if she could hold the memory of him in her arms. The image in his mind changed from day to day, though it was always peaceful. She had made his hell her haven, he never tried to disturb her there.
He passed the house a few times before heading in. The living room light was on, and on the first pass he could see a looming shadow stood straight over a trembling silhouette that rocked back and forth the way Alice did when she drank too much. After the fourth pass, he pulled into the driveway.
Alice was prostrate on the couch. He would have let her be, but she called to him as he entered.
"I gave it away." She said into the cushion.
"Gave what away?"
"All of it. To the church."
She didn't look at him.
"It wasn't yours to give." He said.
"Other kids can-"
He slammed the door as he left, throwing himself back into his car.
He drove for an hour or so with no destination. He wanted to find whatever church had taken Henry's things, find whatever priest had convinced her to throw away what they had left and finally express just how he felt inside.
The bar was an easier option.
The dive was filled to bursting, with a a couple dozen people, each one alone. They drank and avoided each others eyes. After a few pints of bitter, someone tapped him on the shoulder.
"Casey?" The voice asked. "Hey man."
Casey turned and saw Gerry. It took a moment to recognize him, his head was bare and his skin pale.
"I heard what happened." Gerry said. "I'm sorry."
"You didn't do it." Casey replied, turning back to stare into the mirror behind the bar. Gerry shifted in his seat.
"I know we haven't seen each other in a while... But you know, if you want to talk-"
Casey stood up and left. At first he had avoided Gerry because he couldn't stand the idea of seeing the cancer take him, but now he wanted nothing more than for Gerry to be another memory. He wished it in that moment, that the cancer had taken him sooner, and the anger inside him boiled as he stormed off.
On his way out he pushed past a gang of sullen youths as drunk as he was. He shoved out at one, pushing him aside.
"You lookin' for a fight mate?" One had called.
"The gently caress do you think, you twat?" Casey answered.
He woke up as the sun was rising, either him or the narrow side-street he was on reeked of piss. Running his hand over his face he felt the dry stickiness of his own blood clinging to his skin, and tore it off. In those waking moments, he believed Henry was waiting for him at home.
As the world returned, nothing really changed. He was still sore, drunk, and lying in the filth of a slum, with an image in his head of a bright young reflection of himself. Only now the image was all there was, and all that could ever be.
He stumbled around until he found his bearings again. He had wound up outside of Henry's old school, near the back-gate where he and Alice had decided to get re-married, if only for Henry's sake. A cleaner stepped out, Casey recognised him.
"Hey mate, you need to go." The cleaner said. "The kids will be coming in soon."
Alice was still asleep on the couch when he returned. The window framed her like the central piece of some exhibit. He had seen her that way before, when they had both been younger and less hateful. She was finally out of Henry's room. He couldn't go inside, he had no kindness left for her. He felt his pockets. His keys, wallet and phone were still with him. He posted the keys through the letterbox.
Walking to the corner, he sat alone on the curb and dialled a half-remembered number.
"Hi Gerry... I'm sorry about last night..."
"Can we talk? Not on the phone I mean-"
"Of course we can."
"Thanks man... I'm sorry."
"It's alright, you still at yours?"
"Yeah, I'll wait on the corner for you."
He twisted his wedding ring idly as he waited. As he saw Gerry pulling up, he waved his hand and stumbled back to his front door. He pushed his wedding ring through the slot, the last gift he had left to give. He found his feet a little better as he walked to the car. Gerry smiled, and opened the door for him.
|# ¿ Sep 22, 2014 12:44|
While we're talking brawls, does anyone want to step up and judge/watch me break God Over Djinn and make him hamble?
|# ¿ Sep 23, 2014 07:10|
On an only tangentially related note, PootieTang has 24 hours to write about baseball before Djinn is sullied by that most shameful of all triumphs, victory by default.
If the time codes on posts are correct I should have something to submit before the deadline. No victory by default for you Djinn, mark my words
Meanwhile count me IN for this week too!
|# ¿ Sep 30, 2014 11:55|
|# ¿ Jun 27, 2022 18:23|
Untitled base-brawl entry
"All right man, just... Just hit the ball as hard as you can, right at him."
"I can't do it any more, I'm out of practice."
"And I'm not? poo poo I don't even remember how to coach any more. I think you should use the stick to hit the ball, that part I remember but you're gonna have to do the rest of the heavy lifting yourself." Dan ran a hand through his thinning grey hair and let out a long sigh.
Derek sat rubbing his temples in slow circles.
Between them and the locker room door two men in black suits stood trying their best to appear intimidating.
"Why can't someone else do it?" Derek said.
"He's a fan." One of the men in suits said.
"He wasn't even born when I retired." Derek said standing up, wincing as his legs straightened.
"They're all eccentric these Kim Jongs." Dan said. "You've seen Vice, it's just a loving madhouse over there."
Derek turned to the two men, groaning as he stretched. "I thought you guys ran the fuckin' world or something? Now the CIA bullies old men into playing baseball?"
"He's a big fan." One of the agents said. As he finished the other began a speech that stank of rehearsal.
"He's a very big fan. A big enough fan to turn the world into a post-nuclear wasteland if he doesn't get to catch a home-run ball from you in the last inning. And it's our job to stop him blowing up the world. So you go out there, and you play your 'game' and you have 'fun' doing what everyone knows you like doing, but while you're doing it think of what we're doing, and that's saving the whole world from destruction. That's our job."
There was a pregnant pause.
"But you're just making me do it?" Derek said. "So it's my job."
"Well it's our job to loving delegate then." The agent spat.
"Ignore these assholes man." Dan said. "They're gonna be like Yezhov, they may as well not even be here right now."
"Hey now-" One started, but Dan spoke over him.
"They're just here to get a pay-check, you're here to do something real. This isn't even about the game any more, this is about the free world. This is your time to kick fascism in the face and say gently caress you man, this is America!"
Derek sighed again. "Are we even in America any more? I don't even think this town has a school. Why can't he have picked a game in New York?"
"Oldfield is a nice town... Ish." Dan said. "They've got the third biggest Ferris Wheel in the state!"
"Actually they tore that down." One of the CIA agents said. "After super-crack came to town the junkies wrecked it trying to use it to get to the moon."
There was another pause.
“To be honest we don't really know why he's obsessed with this place. He paid a lot to build a new stadium here so he must love something.”
“Could be the super-crack.” The other agent said.
"Well they have super-crack at least." Dan finished. "Tell you what, you hit the home run into his hand and I'll buy you so much super-crack you won't even need a Ferris Wheel to get to the moon. How's that?"
"Whatever, just... Let's just get this over with." Derek said stepping towards the door. The two agents parted for him.
"You made a wise choice." One of the agents said. "And we can get you that super-crack if you want. Lionel here was actually one of the guys who helped invent it back in 2022." He motioned to the agent next to him, who shook his head slowly. "What?" He said. "He doesn't even know that's your real name."
The stadium was an unnatural blemish on the small town. It towered above every other structure, and it was big enough to fit the entire population of Oldfield in it's stands three times over. The CIA had flown in extra people to fill out the numbers, hoping the illusion that the North Korean dictator wasn't the only man to be a fervent supporter of the Oldfield Sniglits would calm him some. The man himself was suspended in a giant glass cube overlooking the pitch, he wore a huge metal backpack that he claimed contained a nuclear bomb ready to detonate if his heart rate should drop below a certain threshold on foreign soil. It appeared heavy from the way he hunched over, grinning as he hobbled his way onto the balcony of his glass box, to watch Derek step out onto the field.
Derek could see him, this tiny figure in the blurry distance. The walk onto the pitch was the hardest, his knees hurt and his back ached and he wanted nothing more than to be out fishing or sat at home watching TV with a beer or anywhere else but back on the field.
In the dugout Dan was watching, his whole body racked with nervousness. The two CIA agents hovered around him shooting dirty glances at everyone around them.
As he stepped up to the plate he tried to bring back the old excitement. The old determination, but there was nothing left. Hit fascism right in the face he repeated in his mind. Just one good hit, let him catch it and the world is saved..
He readied himself, letting the bat roll in his grip as he tried to hone in, but there was no moment here. It was a farce, and he was too old to force the passion. All that was left was a bitterness and a defiance. He let out one more sigh, and then the pitcher threw.
As the ball came towards him there was a flash of anger. As if all the bullshit in the world was packed into that tiny white and red sphere, the CIA, North Korea, Oldfield and it's super-crack, his Glaucoma, everything. The whole planet was inside that ball, and as he swung with all the force he could muster he felt a little of that rage, that Kim Jong must have felt when he wanted the world to burn.
The ball disappeared when he hit it. He almost fell forward from the swing, his hip twisted bad and he had to go to one knee to keep from falling on his face. He looked up at the box.
There stood the hunchback, craned over reaching out to make the catch. He was smiling and his eyes were dancing with an almost innocent joy.
The ball wiped the smirk off of his face. His eyes had failed him long ago but Derek still saw clearly how the ball seemed to rip his jaw off, knocking his head backwards and at the same time driving through it. Bursting out of the back of his skull. The glass box was painted red and the dictator fell forward over the balcony and into the crowd below.
There was a moment of total stillness. The stadium waited for the explosion, for the nuclear fail-safe to go off.
But there was nothing.
Derek turned slightly on his knee towards the dug out. "Am I done now?" He asked, grimacing as he put a hand to his hip. "Because I could really use some of that super-crack."
|# ¿ Oct 1, 2014 14:50|